


when my soul invites you

by Mekina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe, Bastard John Winchester, Character Death, Child Abuse, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Non-Consensual, Underage - Freeform, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mekina/pseuds/Mekina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine years ago, Sam saved Dean and was taken away from him. Now Dean is back, and he's there for Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when my soul invites you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexa_dean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexa_dean/gifts).



Sam doesn't think it's supposed to be like this. Some of the kids in his class have big brothers, and they go to school, too. Sometimes Sam sees them with their big brothers, playing outside, or leaving together with their moms and dads. 

Dean isn't like that. Dean doesn't go to school, and he doesn't go outside unless their dad is with him. Dean's not supposed to exist. 

John tells Sam that sometimes. He gets down on Sam's level (which is a long way down, he's so big), grips his chin too tightly between his fingers. His breath always smells heavy and gross, like something Sam can't name but knows he shouldn't touch.

He says, "You listen here, boy. No one knows about Dean. You don't tell people about him. You don't say his name outside this house, you understand me?" 

Sam says, "Yes sir," and wonders why he's allowed to be a person but not Dean. 

Sometimes the teachers at his schools ask the class to draw their family. Sam draws John with a brown crayon, and then Mary (he only knows her name because he hears John saying it sometimes, usually when Sam has to go out to play and Dean always cries loud) in yellow. He draws himself in blue and wants to add in Dean, with the brightest green crayon there is, but knows he can't. 

"This is my family," he tells his teacher, and it's a lie. He always takes the picture home and adds Dean in there, shows him when John isn't looking. 

It makes Dean cry.

*

Dean takes care of Sam. He always has. He makes him food and gives him baths and tucks him in. Sometimes, when John isn't there, he crawls into bed with Sam and holds him, strokes his hair. Sam always sleeps better on those nights. 

Dean has to be with John on nights when he's there. Sam hears them, Dean crying, loud though he tries not to be, and John sounding like he's angry. He growls and growls and there are noises like they're fighting. 

After his eighth birthday, Sam really starts to think it's not right. He thinks John is doing bad things to Dean, and he wants to make it better. 

"Why does he do things to you?" Sam asks one morning. 

Dean pauses in the middle of making Sam's lunch, eyes hopping quick to the hallway. He shakes his head and keeps going, like he didn't hear Sam, even though Sam knows he did. 

"Why does Dad do stuff to you? I know he does. I hear things. And you don't ever wear clothes inside." Sam reaches out to touch Dean's freckled elbow, looking down at Dean's body. There are dark marks all over his skin. 

"It's all I'm good for. For that, and for looking after you, Sammy." Dean puts the food in his lunchbox and pushes it across the counter. "Go watch some cartoons till he's up to take you to school."

*

John has guns. He takes them and goes out for a long time sometimes, comes back dirty and tired and sometimes bloody. Sam's not allowed to touch the guns, and neither is Dean. 

Normally he doesn't do anything to Dean in front of Sam, but he comes home stumbling and smelling like that stuff again. Sam is on the couch doing his homework, and Dean is sitting at the other end, watching him and waiting until he needs something. 

When John comes in, he ignores Sam and goes straight to Dean, dragging him off the couch and to the floor by the shoulder. "On your knees. Get your mouth open." 

Dean hurries to obey, and Sam just stares disbelieving as...as...he's not sure what John is doing, but Dean doesn't like it. He shakes all over, and makes noises like he can't breathe. He's crying, too, tears rolling fast down his face. 

Sam knows suddenly and completely that John's not supposed to do that. 

Their dad dropped his gun on the table when he came in, right beside his keys. Sam jumps up quick and grabs it, points it at John. 

"Stop it!" 

John freezes, and Dean does too. With a hard shove, he sends Dean sprawling back onto the floor. 

"Sammy, put that down. You'll hurt yourself." 

Sam doesn't know how to use it. Not really, no one ever showed him, but he's seen people on TV and it always looks so easy. They just pull their finger in. That's all. 

Shaking his head, John half turns away and moves towards Dean. "Put it away, Sam. And you. Come here, boy, I didn't tell you you were done." 

Head hanging, Dean turns to crawl back to John. Sam doesn't want that to happen. He wanted to stop it, not stand there and let John do it again. He pulls the trigger. 

John looks startled when he falls over, but Sam feels even more so. Sam drops the gun and sits right down where he is, staring.

John isn't moving. 

Dean gets to him and pulls him close. "What did you do, Sammy? _What did you do?"_

Sam knows. He stopped their dad. He stopped _him_. He made things _better_. For Dean. He made things better for _Dean_. That's what he did.

*

They put Sam in what they call a foster home. There's a woman that calls him a _poor dear_ and tries to hug him, but Sam doesn't let her. The only one that ever hugged him was Dean, and it feels wrong when anyone else tries. 

He has to talk to people called therapists. It's more like they talk and he listens and doesn't talk much back. They want him to, but something stops Sam. John is gone. They don't seem to realize. Sam _knows_ what dead means, and his dad is dead. And he’s not sorry.

John's _dead_ , but Sam still refuses to speak about Dean to anyone. They ask him about his brother all the time, ask him if Dean ever did _bad things_ to him, or if he has trouble _controlling his temper_. 

The only thing Sam manages to get past his lips about Dean, is to ask where they put his brother and when can he see him. They tell him Dean is somewhere he can't hurt anyone.

Not even himself.

********

Sam goes to the same diner all the time. It's one of his favorite places. He likes to take his homework in there sometimes and do it while he eats, or just go hang out there with friends. 

He does have friends. He's not close enough to any of them to think that they'll be buddies for life, or even that they'll stay in touch once he's at college, but they _are_ friends, and good ones. 

He's alone today, and when he goes in, the waitress comes over and smiles at him. Her name is Jemma, and she's been working there for years, almost as long as Sam has been living in this town. 

They make some really awesome pie here. He's just about to take his first bite when he notices the guy across the diner. He's in the corner, silent and hunched over his own plate. The food in front of him is mostly untouched. 

Sam would've looked away by now if the guy wasn't just about the hottest person he'd ever seen. Even from here, Sam can tell he's stunning. Sam squirms a little in his seat, wondering who the guy is and where he's come from. 

He doesn't live here, and if he does, he just moved here. It's not a very big town. 

The guy raises his head, sees Sam watching, and before Sam has a chance to so much as smile at him, he's getting up and walking out, head ducked down low. He doesn't run, but he certainly seems like he wants to get away quick. 

Sam is disappointed but not shattered. 

He goes on home after that. When he goes inside, he sees his mother right away, and she looks freaked out. 

"Mom?" 

She lets out a little gasp when she sees Sam and sinks onto the couch. He notices she's holding the phone. 

"What happened? Are you alright?" 

"Sam," she says slowly. "I'm fine. I...I'm fine." 

She doesn't look it, and when she smiles at him it's not convincing, but Sam supposes if she wants him to know what's bothering her, she'll tell him.

*

Sam spends the rest of the night and half the following day thinking about that guy. Okay, so it's more like fantasizing. He knows even before school is over for the day, he'll be going back to the diner in hopes of seeing him. 

He's there, in the same booth, same place. Sam goes right over and sits across from him. "I'm Sam," he says, quick, wanting to at least get an introduction before the guy runs. 

He _doesn't_ run. Something in his face changes, and he sinks back in the booth. "Your...your name is Sam?" His voice is rough, like he doesn't talk much.

"Yeah. What's yours?" Sam tries not to look too eager, even though he feels like he's moments away from fist-pumping. 

The guy hesitates, then smiles. Like his voice, it seems awkward, like something he doesn't do a lot. 

"My name’s Dean." 

Sam's heart races. _Dean_. Like... 

He’d thought about his brother a lot in the beginning, then less and less over the years, pieces of Dean falling away from memory over the span of a decade until Sam can’t recall the color of his eyes, or his hair.

A few years ago, Sam found out his brother got locked up in a mental institution, a psychiatric ward. Sam can't remember clearly what happened back then, he was so young, but he knows their father had abused Dean and that Dean took the blame for his death. 

Sam knows without a shadow of a doubt that Dean lied. 

_Sam_ did it, not Dean. Sam can't bring himself to regret it. John was his father, but Dean was his brother, and even years on, Sam knows all he wanted to do was protect Dean from John, because even young as Sam was, he _knew_ , he knew Dean wouldn’t do it for himself.

He wonders now how Dean is. Sam hopes he's okay, that Dean is better off wherever he is than if he was still with John, with the things John did to him. 

Feeling a little sick inside now, Sam drags himself back to the present, and back to Dean. A _different_ Dean. It's just a name. _Just a name_ , he repeats, _nothing more,_ trying to convince himself. 

"Hi, Dean." It feels awkward, not so much rolling off his tongue as it is forced out. Sam doesn't think he's said that name since...since the last time he saw his brother. He never did start talking about him. 

"You're new around here?" 

Dean's tongue flickers over his lips, thoughtfully. "You could say that. _Yeah_. Sam, how old are you?" 

He hopes he's not blushing as hard as he feels like he is.

"Seventeen." 

Dean thinks about this for a moment, then nods, as if confirming something. He smiles again. It seems a little more natural. 

He's even more gorgeous when he smiles, and Sam squirms slightly as Dean licks his lips and lets his eyes go half lidded. 

Dean notices. His smile broadens and he leans back, arms spreading out along the back of the booth he's in. " _Sam_ , you gotta place?"

Sam thinks he should be flattered that Dean thinks he’s old enough to have a place of his own, but something about the guy’s expression makes his skin tighten. Sam must have the tone all wrong, because it shouldn’t be as dirty as Sam’s mind is making it out to be until Dean says--

“To fuck? You gotta place so we can fuck?”

Shocked, Sam flounders, doesn’t care that he’s gaping.

"You mean?" He knows very well what Dean means, and he's shaking his head before he has time to really process the offer. "No. _No, I don’t—“_

Sam stands up, almost upends the table, dishes rattling, water glasses sloshing and slides off the bench, still shaking his head. 

Dean is hot. No doubt about it, but Sam has never done anything as insane as going home with a stranger. That's just not who he is and not what he does. Sam is a _good_ kid.

“I really have to go,” he says with a tight smile, looking anywhere but at Dean.

He almost knocks Jemma over in his rush out the door.

Walking home he feels regretful, wondering what it would've been like. 

But no. Sam isn't that person. Feeling turned on and annoyed, at himself with being so firmly on the straight and narrow and with Dean for being so damn tempting, he heads into his room. As soon as he's sure he's alone in the house, he shoves his hand into his jeans. 

He wants it to be quick and mechanical, just getting it done so he can do his homework, but just as Sam is getting close, Dean's proposition pops into his head and he comes too suddenly to enjoy it, with Dean's words echoing in his head.

Sam cleans up and gets to work, unable to stop thinking about Dean for the rest of the evening.

*

By the next afternoon, Sam has reached the conclusion that he's an idiot. What was he expecting? He had the hots for Dean, Dean noticed. Of course he extended an offer. What did Sam really think was going to happen? That Dean was going to be his boyfriend or something? 

He wishes he'd said yes. It's fucking insane to think of it, but Sam finds himself heading for the diner. He doesn't do this kind of thing, except maybe when he wants to.

Just as his hand grips the door pull, he turns right around, complete one-eighty. He _won’t._ Sam is not crazy. 

Not crazy. 

Not even a little bit.

He hunches his shoulders and tries his best to put it out of his head and get back to his house and his life.

*

It doesn't work. 

Sam can't get Dean out of his head. When he's trying to concentrate in school, when he's trying to eat dinner with his parents, and especially any time he has his hand on his dick, his thoughts turn _without fail_ back to Dean. 

He thinks, and thinks, and finally realizes he probably needs to get over it and fuck Dean right out of his system. Maybe once he's tried it, tried Dean out, maybe Sam will be able to get back to not having every waking moment spent thinking about him. 

It's days later, with new purpose in his step that he heads back to the diner. Sam doesn't know if Dean will even be there, but he hopes-- 

Dean is there, at the same place he was the first two times. He's watching the door, waiting, and he doesn't seem the least bit surprised when Sam approaches him immediately. 

"Yes," he says. "My answer is yes. Fuck yes." 

There's an awful moment when Sam is afraid he'll have to actually explain, provide context ( _yes, I want to go to your place and have sex, even though you're a complete stranger and possibly a serial killer but you’re hot and I’m horny_ ) but Dean just nods and stands up, waiting until Sam is following to leave the diner. 

He follows Dean to the one motel the town has. Sam's never stayed there, of course, no reason to, but he's gone past it a lot and always thought it looked like a bit of a dump. 

"You're staying _here_?" It's a pointless question, as soon as it's out of Sam's mouth Dean pulls a key out and unlocks the door. 

Sam takes his jacket off and stands there awkwardly as Dean closes the door. He doesn't know how to do this. The only people he's done anything with were kids from his school. Sam's not the type of guy to follow a stranger home for sex. 

Except, apparently, he is. 

Dean turns to face him, and without a word, guides Sam to the bed, pushing him to sit on the edge. He sinks to his knees and immediately starts to work open Sam's jeans. 

Oh god. _Oh god_ , Sam thinks he's about to hyperventilate. This guy . . . _Dean._ Dean is about to suck him off. 

It's almost eerie how silent Dean is when he reaches into Sam's boxers and pulls his cock out, swallowing him down easy in one movement. Sam jerks in surprise, hips shooting up and ramming his dick further down Dean's throat. 

Dean...doesn't pull off, doesn’t look reproachful, doesn’t call him an asshole when he chokes and his eyes water. No, Dean just . . . keeps going.

"Dean," Sam moans, tentatively reaching out to stroke Dean's hair. It doesn't feel strange anymore, this stranger with this name. This is a Dean, but not the Dean he knew. It's just a name, after all. 

"Oh, god, so good." 

Dean pulls off and looks up at him, his hand stroking Sam expertly as soon as he takes his mouth away, never leaving him without stimulation. "You can be as rough as you want. I know how to take it. It’s what I'm good at." 

There's something kind of odd about the words. They don't sound like Sam thinks they should, it's not like Dean is messing around or bragging or trying to be sexy. It's like...he's stating fact. 

He seems alright though, kneeling there looking up at Sam, waiting, promise of a smile in the corner of his mouth. 

Dean's hair is long, ends curling just above the nape of his neck. Sam twines his fingers in it and guides Dean forward, watching Dean hold his dick steady even as Sam makes him take it. 

Dean lets him fuck his mouth, not stopping him once, even though Sam gets rougher the closer he is to coming, dragging Dean's mouth up and down the length of his cock. 

The instant Sam loses it, he shoves in as deep as he can get, whining as he spills. He hears Dean's tiny, desperate noises for air, and when he opens his eyes he sees that Dean's got tears trickling down his face. 

Dean swallows everything. Sam feels his dick give a final, interested twitch and pulls out, suddenly worried. Dean said he could be rough, but . . .

"D-Did I hurt you?" 

Dean shakes his head, shrugs. "I’m not a chick, dude. I can take it.” He wipes his face on his sleeve. It's childlike, and Sam finds himself smiling. 

"But no." 

Sam is honestly surprised to find himself still conscious after that. He slides shakily off the bed, reaching for Dean. He wants to get him off too. He's not an expert, but he's confident he could make Dean moan pretty loud if he tries. Dean's hand on his wrist stops him. 

"Don't worry about it," he says. "You don't have to do that." 

Sam wants to persist, really wants to get Dean off, but he's afraid to push too much. If he does, Dean might not want to do this again. He knows he's getting ahead of himself, this might only be a one-time thing, but Sam wants more. Dean's really fucking good at this, and this was just a blowjob. Sam can't imagine what doing more would be like. 

"God," he sighs, getting onto the bed and stretching out. "That was so good." 

He notices that Dean doesn't move off of the floor, just stays there. He seems content to sit there and watch Sam. It's a little unnerving. Dean is almost drinking him in, taking in every detail like he intends to have Sam for dinner. 

He tucks his soft dick away, conscious of the fact that he's expected at home. Sam has never been the type of person to stay out after school without telling his parents beforehand. His friends jokingly tell him he’s uptight. Sam always shrugs it off. He takes school and responsibilities seriously, unlike a lot of his classmates. He wants to have a future, wants to make something of himself. 

He wants to do something with the freedom his brother granted him. 

"I'd better get going," he says at last, sitting up 

Dean jerks, like he'd been shocked out of a trance. "Going?" He sounds surprised, like he wasn't expecting it. 

"Yeah. I have to get home, my parents will flip if I stay out past curfew on a school night." 

"You don't have to go. You could stay longer. I could . . . " Dean leans forward, hands landing on Sam's thighs. "I could suck you off again. You can use my mouth." 

Sam groans as his dick twitches and makes a valiant effort to get hard again. 

"Oh God. That's . . . Jesus, Dean." It's so tempting. He can almost feel that hot, wet mouth around him again . . . and the way Dean let him, hell, _encouraged_ him to get rough and fuck his pretty mouth . . . 

No. He won’t be a dick and worry his parents. 

"That sounds amazing," Sam admits. "But I really _do_ have to get going." 

As he goes to the door, he turns, making eye contact with Dean, who is still kneeling on the floor. Dean's fingers twitch, like he wants to grab Sam and haul him back on the bed. 

"This was really good. Uh. Thanks." It feels kind of weird to thank Dean for the blowjob, but it just slips out. Sam mentally shrugs. With a wave, he leaves Dean on his knees.

*

His parents look seriously worried when Sam gets home. They're all over him, asking what kept him, and why he didn't call. He _always_ calls. Why didn’t he call?

Apologetically, Sam tells them he ran into a friend and ended up going to his house. It's not like they need or want to know that their son hooked up with a total stranger. It’s not a _complete_ lie. Because Dean is his friend now, right?

He thinks about Dean that night, about the way Dean let him shove him down and make him take it, the way he offered to do it again, and can't keep from sliding his hand into his boxers, pumping his dick slowly and shuddering with the memory of how good it felt. 

God, he hopes it happens again.

*

It happens again. 

Sam doesn't even have to go into the diner again to see Dean. He's just turning down the street on his way there, when he spots Dean off to the side of the building, arms crossed and leaning back against the wall. He's clearly waiting for someone, and Sam's heart thumps with excitement at the very real possibility that Dean is waiting for him. 

Dean sees him and straightens, heading right for him. He barely gives Sam a chance to say hello before he's leaning in close. "Do you want to fuck me, Sam?" 

Sam swears he nearly falls from the sudden burst of arousal. The way Dean asks, in broad fucking daylight, in the middle of the street, with people not twenty feet from them, has Sam getting hard alarmingly fast.

"Yes. Jesus, yes. Do you want me to?" 

Dean doesn't answer, just turns and starts walking. Sam almost trips in an effort to keep up, eager and suddenly unable to stop fidgeting. He's never...god, just the thought of Dean, tight and warm around his dick . . . 

As soon as they're in Dean's motel room, Dean starts undressing. He didn't so much as take off his shirt last time, so Sam didn't get to see the body hiding under those clothes. 

He stands dumbly near the door, mouth going dry as Dean's shirt hits the floor and he unfastens and strips out of his jeans. He's not wearing any underwear. Dean turns to face him, lets Sam look his fill, from Dean's perky little nipples to his cock, which Sam is surprised to see is completely soft. 

Maybe it takes him some time to get warmed up and ready to go, Sam reasons. Sam hasn’t really been with guys like this so he has nothing to go by, but he does know not everyone is the same. So why should Dean and he be? It probably takes longer for Dean than it does Sam to get it up. 

Part of him expects, and wants, Dean to come over and start pulling the clothes off of Sam in impatience, but no. Dean waits, lets Sam look. 

At last, realizing Dean isn't going to make a move until he does, Sam starts throwing off his own clothes. 

"Do you have . . . anything?" Sam's not done this before, but he has the technical knowledge. 

"You don't have to . . . use anything," Dean shrugs. “I can take it.”

When Sam looks mildly horrified, Dean turns to the side table and opens a drawer, pulls out a slender tube of lubricant. "It'll probably be smoother for you with this anyway." 

There's something not right about the whole thing, but Sam is seventeen and presented with a gorgeous guy, who is going to let Sam _fuck_ him, so Sam pushes his worries aside (he can't quite put his finger on what it is that's bothering him, anyway) and advances, realizing suddenly as he stands in front of Dean that they haven't even kissed. 

Sam cups the back of Dean's neck, pulling him close and up a little to reach his lips. He presses a kiss to them, expects Dean to take charge and start kissing him back. Instead, when Sam opens his eyes, he sees Dean staring with something like confusion. 

"I thought you wanted to fuck me." 

"I do. But I want to do this, too." 

With those words out, Dean nods and pulls Sam back in, pressing their lips together. It feels clumsy, even to Sam, and Sam hasn’t been around very much but he does know he’s a damn good kisser. Sex is one thing, but kissing . . . kissing? Sam’s _got_ this. 

Sam licks Dean’s lips encouragingly, but Dean doesn't open his mouth until Sam presses a hand to his jaw, slight pressure apparently making Dean realize what he wants. 

Dean's tongue flickers uncertainly against Sam's. It's a drastic difference from the way Dean was when he blew Sam. Dean knew what he was doing then. Looking back on it now, it might not have been confidence at all, more like a well-rehearsed routine, like Dean knew how to suck someone off, like he knew just what to do to make them lose their mind. 

Dean knows sex. That much is clear. He doesn't seem to know kissing though. Regretful, Sam draws away a moment later, telling himself if this keeps happening, if Dean wants to do this again, then he'll spend a long time kissing him. He'll show him. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean looks questioningly at him. 

"How do you want me?" He seems completely unashamed of his nakedness. Almost unaware, like he's accustomed to it. 

And maybe he is. Maybe Dean lived in a nudist colony. Maybe Dean spends his days taking guys home all the time like he did Sam. Sam has no reason to feel jealous. No reason. None at all.

But just how routine is this for Dean? How many people did he fuck to get this way? Sam brushes it off. Who cares if Dean has a lot of sex with other people. He's _here_ now, with Sam, and he's invited Sam to fuck him. 

"On . . . on your back, I guess?" Sam isn't sure if that's a good position or what. He hasn’t done this before. He's gone further with girls, but not much more than kissing with guys before. 

He looks to Dean, for any indication whether Dean likes that position or not, but Dean is expressionless as he slides up the bed and lays back, spreading his bowed legs as Sam follows, making him a space between them. 

Dean hands Sam the lube and Sam slicks up his fingers. He's relying on porn and the occasional internet search done out of curiosity for this. He doesn't know what he's doing, not really. 

Sam reminds himself that there are two people here, and that Dean is sure to speak up if he does it horribly wrong. Dean pulls his legs up further when Sam strokes tentatively over his hole. 

"What’s takin’ you so long?" Dean pushes himself up onto his elbows and looks at Sam. "Lube up and stick your dick in. I can handle it."

Sam’s not sure how to respond to that. “Good for you,” sounds like an asshole move and it might get him kicked out. So he settles for--

"I’m doing this because I want to." The _shut up and take it_ is left to subtext.

Sam pushes his finger in, slow. Dean sighs and sinks back down against the bed, body shifting with small movements as Sam slides his finger in and out experimentally. 

Sam has to give his neglected dick a few strokes at the feeling of Dean's ass around his finger. Sam's never felt anything like it. He's so tight . . . so warm . . . Sam is afraid he'll come as soon as he pushes in. And wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

He takes enough time to work two fingers in. Dean doesn't seem to care either way, so Sam slips them out and spreads lube on his cock. "Can I?" 

"Go ahead." 

Biting his lip, Sam lines himself up, trembling a little in eagerness. He starts to push in, gasping at how it feels. Dean just spreads further and tilts his hips up, making the penetration easier. When he's all the way in, Sam pauses, both to try and let Dean get used to it and to prevent himself from coming right away. 

His eyes slip closed when he starts to move. It's so good. Sam's never felt anything like it. He knows that he'll never be completely satisfied with his own hand ever again, not after he's had this. Moaning, he opens his eyes and looks at Dean. 

Dean looks steadily back at him. He doesn't seem lost in the moment or dazed with pleasure or any of the things Sam always thought people would feel in the middle of sex, the things he himself is feeling, but Dean is smiling. And that’s worth something, right?

"Good?" 

"So good." Sam's voice shakes a little. "You . . . it feels . . . God, Dean." He's found a steady rhythm now, never letting Dean go more than a second without being full. He ducks his head, surprised to find Dean is only half hard. 

It must've hurt more than he realized. Guilty, Sam braces himself on one hand, licks the other, and wraps it around Dean's dick. 

That gets an immediate reaction. Dean's whole body twists in shock at the stimulation, his mouth falling open and a gorgeous moan slipping out. "What are you-- what are you doing, Sam?" 

Sam smiles and rocks in again, stroking Dean's rapidly hardening dick. "I want to get you off this time. Want to see what you look like when you come." 

Dean pushes himself back up to stare at Sam. He looks confused. He seemed so passive, it's a welcome change. 

"Why?" 

Sam falters a bit. _What?_ What kind of question is _that?_

"Because I want to. I bet you're so hot when you lose it," Sam says instead of what he’s thinking. He adjusts his angle a little bit, hoping he'll find what he's read about, and when Dean moans loudly, he knows he has. That, combined with Sam slowly jacking him off, has Dean gasping, open mouthed, like he's never felt anything so good and doesn't know how to handle it. 

"Fuck," Dean whispers, eyes wide. He whimpers when Sam tightens his hand around Dean's dick. His long eyelashes flutter as he chews on his bottom lip, trembling and writhing with the pleasure. He looks like he's never felt anything so good. When Sam speeds his strokes on Dean's dick, he starts making soft little noises, _oh, oh, oh_ , full of wonder and a hint of surprise. 

He's getting close to coming, and Sam wants them to lose it together, but he knows it won't happen this time. Gasping, Sam takes his hand off Dean's dick and grabs his hips, pulling him all the way onto his own cock as he comes, getting Dean all slick and sloppy inside. 

It's only a moment later --so fucking late-- he realizes he didn't wear a condom. Dean never asked, and this was Sam's first time going all the way with anyone. _Fuck._ Oh, fuck.

Figuring the damage is done Sam resolves to panic later. Sam pulls out and scoots down a little and bends his head to take Dean's dick into his mouth. 

Dean sounds just as surprised as he did when Sam put his hand on it. "Sam!" His astonishment turns to moaning as Sam sucks on the head of his dick. 

He's not trying to win a medal here. Sam doesn't try to deep-throat, he just sucks hard on the head and wraps his hand around the rest of Dean's length. Dean's thighs tense and he thrashes a little, whimpers escaping him no matter how hard he bites his lip. It's the hottest thing Sam has ever seen. He could almost get hard again, just from watching Dean. 

When Dean's toes start curling, he whispers, _"Stop, stop,"_ like he doesn't want to choke Sam. 

It's considerate, but Sam wants that part of the experience, too, so he keeps going. It doesn't take long. Less time than it took Sam to get off. 

An almost scream is wrenched out of Dean when he comes, and it's a word. A single word.

 _"Sammy,"_ as he spills into Sam's mouth. 

He feels suddenly numb as he swallows and lets Dean's dick slip from his mouth. Only one person has ever called him that, and it makes him ache inside, makes memories he doesn't want to think about swim to the surface. 

_"Don't_ call me that." 

Dean sits up, drawing his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. It's a curiously young gesture. He looks devastated. 

"Sorry." 

Sam sighs and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. His lips feel swollen and wet. His good mood effectively slaughtered, because now he's busy trying to push memories back where they belong. 

Faded or not, when he starts thinking, he'll inevitably get upset and start crying and feeling like he can't breath. That's the last thing he wants to happen in front of Dean. He doesn't even like breaking down like that in front of his parents. 

It's best when he can lock himself in his room at home and try to force himself to focus on anything but the memories, to bury them away again where he won't have to be confronted by them until something else randomly triggers his memory. 

It's about time he got home, anyway. "I'd better go. I really . . . Don’t get me wrong. I like you." Sam stands and begins to collect his clothes. 

"Again? This...wasn't enough?" Dean sounds, and looks, kind of lost as he watches Sam get dressed. "You're still leaving?" 

"Of course I am, I have to get back home or my parents will start worrying." Sam is warmed by the thought that Dean apparently wants him to stay, but put off by his apparent lack of social graces. 

"I'd like to see you again sometime if you want to, though." He gives Dean a smile before he leaves.

*

It's the next day that he sees Dean. Only, not where he's supposed to see him. 

It's halfway through his third class. Sam is staring out the window and waiting for it to end. He already knows all of the material, and it's his final year. Sometimes, he just doesn't feel like there's any point in taking down notes or even really listening. 

The window he's next to overlooks the school parking lot. A black Chevy Impala catches his eye. Sam walks through that parking lot every morning, and he's never seen it before. It’s hard to miss. A car like that. 

As he watches, Dean gets out and leans back against it, watching the school steadily. 

Sam gapes. What the hell is he doing here? It's a little creepy, but Sam feels a little thrill, too, at the knowledge that a guy like Dean might be looking for him. 

It is borderline stalkery, though. They've only messed around. Well, fucked twice, and now Dean is waiting outside his school. It's a bit presumptuous and maybe it should piss Sam off, but it doesn't. Dean is here, and he's here because of Sam, and it has his chest tightening oddly. 

He squirms in his seat, remembering the previous night. Though Sam tries to be subtle about it, it attracts the attention of his teacher, who raises an eyebrow at him. 

Mumbling that he needs to go to the bathroom, Sam half rushes out of the class. He goes straight out the front doors of the school and around the building to the parking lot. 

If anyone looks out that window, they'll see him. He doesn't care. Sam feels reckless and impulsive. Fuck it. He's been a model student all these years, why shouldn't he skip out once? 

If Dean is surprised when Sam appears at his side, he doesn't show it. 

"Sam." 

"What are you doing here?" Okay, so he is a little angry. Not very, but it's just that Dean showed up with no warning, and-- "Why are you outside my school?" 

"I was waiting for you." 

"Yeah, obviously, but how did you know what school I go to?" Sam almost shouts when he demands to know, _"Did you follow me?"_

"You didn't tell me where you live, and you didn't give me your number." Dean's lips quirk up and he leans forward, tilting his head towards the car. “You didn’t say _when_ either.”

He doesn't want to . . . couldn’t possibly . . . not at Sam's _school_? During third period . . . It's clear that he does though, because Dean gives him a small, almost shy smile and shrugs one shoulder. He looks from the backseat to Sam and then at the seat again, waiting. 

Sam climbs in, knowing he wants it too badly to let the creepiness stop him. Dean follows right after him, pulling the door closed and then immediately bending over Sam's lap, fingers working quickly and skillfully at the buttons on Sam's jeans. 

Oh, fuck. It's obvious what Dean is about to do, and Sam wiggles eagerly. He remembers how good Dean's mouth felt, tight wet heat. 

"This is crazy. Why are we doing this?" he mumbles, only half aware of the words because it's at that moment that Dean pulls his dick out and swallows him down. 

Sam watches, feeling unbelievably turned on and yet lazy at the same time, content to sit there with his legs spread while Dean's head bobs, making filthy noises as he sucks and swallows Sam's cock down. 

Dean's so good at this. Jesus, so good. Sam moans and looks down, sees Dean's lips stretched around him, the outline of his dick visible through Dean's cheek. Shuddering in pleasure, Sam clutches at the seat like a lifeline. He was the one in control last time, setting the pace and making Dean take it, but now he makes himself relax and watch as Dean takes him deep. 

He puts a hand on Dean's head. He doesn't want to push him down, just runs his fingers through his soft hair. 

"Dean, you-- you're beautiful." 

Sam's been aware of it since the moment he first saw Dean. He’d have to be blind. Dean is gorgeous. It's only right now when he’s stupid with Dean’s lips around his cock that he summons the courage to actually tell him. 

Dean stops and opens his eyes, staring up at Sam like he can’t figure him out. After a second, he continues, but keeps looking at Sam the whole time. Moaning, Dean sucks harder and rolls his hips down against the seat. His noises are even louder than Sam's, moans and choked whimpers slip out around Sam's dick. 

Dean's hips settle into a steady grind, rubbing off against the vinyl. Sam realizes that he's fallen silent, just trying to take in the sounds Dean is making, the way his jeans sound against the seat. 

Sam's watched porn before, and the thought comes to him now that Dean sounds like one of those pornstars, moans loud and . . . not fake, but not entirely genuine, either. Like he's trying most of all to convince Sam that he's getting off on blowing him. 

It's an embarrassingly short time later that Sam loses it, shuddering when he sees Dean's throat work as he swallows Sam's come. Half dazed with pleasure, he allows Dean to lay him down on the seat. He watches silently as Dean opens his jeans and pushes them down just enough to get his cock out. 

Dean crawls up to lay himself over Sam, fitting his dick up against the groove of Sam's hip and fucks up against him, using Sam's body for friction. 

His hands slide along Sam's body as he ruts mindlessly against him, pushing up under his shirt, gliding almost hesitantly over his face and through his hair. Dean touches him like Sam is a fading memory he desperately wants to keep, mapping out and memorizing every detail. It's layered with desperation and need, and Dean whines quietly against Sam's throat, moving faster when Sam musters up enough energy to lift a hand to Dean's lower back, pulling him closer. 

"Sam," Dean whispers, lifting his head and meeting Sam's eyes. He never stops moving, but does slow down while they share a look. 

Without any real conscious thought, Sam's hand slides up to Dean's neck and pulls him in for a kiss. 

It's crazy to Sam that he’s had his dick in Dean's mouth a couple minutes ago, but they've hardly kissed at all since they met. Sam's never been able to claim experience or skill with anything sexual, but he knows kissing. He hasn't had a real opportunity to show that off to Dean, but it's with confidence now that he licks into Dean's mouth, savoring the way Dean whimpers when he nips gently at his lip. 

Dean's more into it than the last time they kissed, fingers clenching against Sam's ribs and precome smearing over Sam's skin as they kiss. He comes with no more sound than a quiet gasp against Sam's jaw, ducking out of the kiss as he spills to breathe. 

Dean hovers over him on the seat, head hanging as he catches his breath. Sam still feels like he'll never move again, lazy with the pleasure still buzzing through him. 

"We're not making a porno, you know." Dean raises his eyes, stares at Sam inquiringly, and he continues, "You don't have to be so loud. I can hear you just fine." 

Dean scrunches his face up, displeased. Then he nods and his expression clears. 

Part of Sam wants to pull Dean down on top of him and lay together for a while, but that's not something they've done or discussed, and anyway, he needs to get back to class now. Remembering suddenly that there was a world outside of Dean and his dick, Sam sits up as far as he can with Dean still hanging over him. 

He looks down at himself and realizes Dean came all over him, not just on his skin but his clothes, too. There's no way he can go back into the school looking like this, anyone who looks at him will know instantly what he's been up to. 

" _Damn it,"_ Sam sighs. "I'm going to get in trouble now." He looks at Dean, sees his satisfied little smile, as though he did it on purpose. "This is . . . you can’t do this again. Follow me to school like this, okay?" 

He tries to sit up, making it clear he wants to get out of the car. Dean sits back, reaches behind him, and opens the side door. 

"You really want to walk home like that? You can come back to the motel, get cleaned up." 

Sam shakes his head and gets out of the car. He wants to go ahead and walk away, but he's covered in _come._ Defeated, he says, "You can drive me home." 

He gets into the passenger seat, waits silently as Dean gets behind the wheel and starts the car up, pulling out of the parking lot. He only speaks to give Dean directions to his house. 

It's the middle of the day, so both of his parents should be at work. It's a small blessing, and one Sam is very grateful for. Semen splatters would raise questions he doesn't want to answer, not to mention Dean dropping him off. No way they’d miss that.

"I don't want you appearing in the middle of school like that again," Sam says firmly. "But apart from that," he feels his gaze soften as he sighs and smiles, "see you again." 

Mindful of nosy neighbors, he rushes into the house quickly.

*

Early the next morning (or late the previous night, depending on your viewpoint), Sam is rudely awakened by the thud of someone knocking on his window. 

He sits straight up with a stifled gasp, staring at the dark shape moving behind the curtains. Oh God. This is... 

Someone creeping outside his window. 

Tense and half expecting to see some prowler outside, Sam goes to the window and parts the curtains a little. There's Dean on the other side, hands in his pockets, waiting patiently for Sam to let him in. 

"What the fuck," Sam hisses, pushing the window open and stepping back to let Dean crawl in, itching to drag him in and shake him roughly. "I tell you not to show up at my school, so you sneak back to my house at _night_? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any boundar-- " 

He trails off when he sees Dean sitting on his bed, just listening to him and not looking remotely guilty. 

Sam shuts the window and pulls the curtains closed, shaking his head. "At least you didn't go with the whole pebbles on the windows routine. I'd feel like this was some shitty teen movie if you did." He crawls back onto his bed, leaning back against the pillows. "You can't show up whenever you want, Dean. My parents are home now, they'd freak out if they came in here and found some strange guy in my room." 

Dean strips out of his jacket, moves to take his shirt off. Sam lurches forward and grabs his wrists to stop him before he gets too naked for Sam to ignore (or resist.) 

"What are you doing?" He looks anxiously towards his door, pure reflex. "We can't do this now. I just told you, my parents are here." 

"You can be quiet, can't you?" Sam's grip loosens enough for Dean to pull away and continue stripping, throwing his boxers off and slinking up the bed to hover over Sam on all fours. 

"Dean..." Sam's reluctance melts away when Dean leans down to kiss him, hesitance still showing with this, like he's not sure he should initiate it. 

He rolls them so that he's on top, kissing Dean eagerly. He gets Dean to whimper just from Sam's mouth alone, and before Sam knows it he’s got his boxers around his thighs and he’s opening Dean up with his fingers and not enough spit, but Dean insists he’s fine with it.

Sam has to bite at Dean's neck just to hold back his moans, and Dean's groans no more than tiny noises, no danger of them being heard by his parents. Dean is . . . fuck, it's like he knows what Sam wants, even when Sam isn’t aware he wants it. 

He has no clue how Dean does it and it's a little scary. God, Sam doesn't even know where they stand. Doesn’t know anything about Dean beyond that he's hot and apparently a sex god, and here Dean is knowing what he wants almost before Sam does. 

He manages to get Dean off before himself this time, and so experiences what it's like to have Dean contracting around him in orgasm, the way Dean’s brows come together like it hurts and his mouth falls slack and soft for Sam. Sam doesn't last longer than that. 

It only hits him after he's pulled out that he's spilled come all over his sheets. It's official: Sam is stupid when it comes to sex. And to Dean. Already he's done all kinds of crap that he'd never even consider normally. 

He turns his head to see Dean about to get up. Maybe Sam was a little harsh before, yelling at him.

Sam stretches an arm out, lays it across Dean's chest. Dean stops with no more than a slight hitch of breath and flutter of his lashes. He doesn't even look at Sam, just waits. 

Sam feels like an asshole.

"You can stay. If you want. You'll have to go before my parents get up, but . . . you can stay." Sam feels weird again, like before when he wanted to . . . cuddle with Dean. They've had sex multiple times, but things like kissing and cuddling feel even more intimate than that. He doesn't know if he has a right to that part of Dean. 

Dean relaxes into the bed, and moves closer to Sam without a word being exchanged about it. Sam feels that trickle of surprise and a little unease again. Dean just...knows. 

There isn't any extensive cuddling, but they're close enough together that their sides are touching. Sam falls asleep just like that, and he's only awake enough to register the briefest of touches along his arm when Dean leaves. He's not even conscious enough to hear the window close as Dean slips out.

*

Sam sees Dean more and more often after that. He takes to waiting across the street from Sam's school on weekdays, sometimes in his car and sometimes on foot, and on weekends Sam goes to the motel to meet Dean. They fuck like they're addicted, and Sam feels like he just might be. 

He still doesn't really have any idea what they're doing, what Dean and he are (to be friends with benefits you have to actually be friends, and Sam doesn't know anything about Dean), and fuck buddies seems too casual. He wants to try and figure it out, but then he'll remember something Dean did, or how he looked, and he'll become suitably distracted. 

Sam is just getting home from school one afternoon, itching to put his stuff away and head back out to the motel since Dean didn't meet him. 

He told his parents there's a girl, which they bought. Sam's never lied to them before and it’s not like he’s _completely_ lying to them. His skin itches with guilt, but he's too far gone now to stop seeing Dean. 

His mom calls his name as soon as she hears the front door open. Resigned to being late, Sam looks into the living room. His mom and dad are both there, waiting for him. It's obviously planned. 

Suddenly concerned at their drawn, weary faces, Sam goes in and sits down. 

"Sam." His mom puts her cup of tea down and sighs, looking to his father for support. "We need to tell you something." 

"We didn't want to say anything at first," his dad begins, fidgeting uncomfortably. "We thought it best not to worry you. But...we've decided you need to know. Your brother escaped from the psychiatric ward." 

It's suddenly as if all the sound has faded out of the world. Sam stares without really seeing them. "What?" 

"He just . . . he slipped out. And they think he might come for you." 

Oh, God. Oh _God_. Sam's hit with a wall of memories, of Dean. The way he took care of Sam, and the way he . . . the things that their father . . . that John did to him . . . Sam thought his memories were lost, but they’re rushing back now. He must have been blocking them out, subconsciously refusing to think about them. And no wonder. 

Tears slip down his cheeks, and he covers his face. He remembers now, the horror of Dean's existence back then. Dean was _never_ unchaperoned, never without John hovering over his shoulder when they were out. He . . . Sam saw, sometimes. He _saw_. He _remembers._

It's tearing him up inside now, what happened to Dean. He wants to go back and kill John all over again. Slower this time.

Dean's _out_. He's looking for Sam. Sam grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

"When did you find out?" 

"A few weeks ago. We didn't think he could find you, but . . . well, you deserved to know.”

Sam's head jerks up as if he's a puppet on a string. "You've known for that long? And you didn't tell me right away?" 

In an instant, Sam remembers the afternoon he came home and found his mom looking like she'd seen a ghost. 

"He's my brother! What if I wanted--" 

"They told me he's dangerous," his mother bursts out. "That he may be _abusive_ , to you," she stops, leaving it obvious but unsaid. 

He can hardly believe what he's hearing. He can't equate the big brother he knew, the one that took care of him and loved him, the one that Sam – fuck-- killed for, to someone dangerous. 

Sam can't let himself believe that Dean would ever want to hurt him. The likelihood of it is as likely as Dean finding him. As likely as Dean showing up one day in town waiting for Sam to walk by? 

"Oh, god," Sam chokes out, sitting up as he realizes. "No . . . it can't . . . " 

He remembers the second time he saw Dean, how he was about to run until Sam introduced himself. Sam's _name_ made him stop. And if Dean had any doubts about Sam’s identity, Sam’s age would have quelled them.

It's _him._ It's him. 

Sam still plans to ask, of course he does, but he knows already, down to his very bones. It's his brother. 

The things they did. Jesus Christ. 

Sam is up and running for the door in an instant, the confused and concerned calls of his parents not stopping or even slowing him. Every step, the thought that he's no better than his father pulses in his brain. 

Dean opens the motel door before Sam has a chance to hit it a second time. Sam shoves Dean back and steps in, kicking the door closed behind him. 

"It's _you_ , isn't it? _Dean_!" Unlike the other times Sam has said his name, it holds more meaning now that he knows this is _his_ Dean. His _brother._ Not just some guy he fucks. "My brother." 

Dean doesn't confirm it, but he doesn't say no, either. He twitches, mouth turning down at the corners a little. Like he's been caught, and he's not exactly happy about it. 

"You got out. And you came looking for me. Why didn't you just fucking tell me who you were? What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?" Sam would like to be understanding, to sit and talk about it, but he can't. He's so angry. Dean knew, and he . . . he let Sam . . . 

Sam thinks about the way Dean seemed uneasy sometimes when Sam insisted on returning favors, insisted on kissing and cuddling. And as soon as Sam said he wanted it, Dean gave in no matter what Dean would have wanted himself. The way he seemed so unused to human kindness.

"What the fuck is wrong with you," Sam repeats, advancing on Dean and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, giving him a shake. 

" _What_ , did you see me and couldn't fucking resist? Were they right about you, Dean? Just come to perv on your little brother?" 

His anger is burning bright as Sam shoves Dean, hard enough that he lands on the bed. Sam follows him over, unfastening his pants and stepping out of them. Dean pushes up the bed a little so that he's fully on it, not resisting when Sam starts to drag his jeans off, too. 

All the times Dean offered to let Sam take him dry, he never did. Sam didn't want it to be like that. But now, even as he knows the truth, who Dean is, he's spitting into his hand and giving his dick a couple of pumps, gripping Dean roughly and dragging him forward, legs apart so that Sam can push inside. 

His thoughts are a mad blur in his head, roaring too loudly for him to be able to grasp a hold of one for more than a second. If Dean's become a sick fuck that only wanted to get Sam into bed . . . if that was the entire reason he tracked Sam down, then fine. He can fucking _have_ Sam. 

Dean makes a soft, shocked noise as Sam pushes into him, starts fucking him right away. He whimpers a little at first, but then falls silent. 

Sam's vision blurs with tears. He's looking at Dean as an adult, but superimposed in his mind's eye is Dean as he used to know him, when they were kids. 

It's so fucked up. This is his older brother, the one he's not seen for _years_ , but Sam can't stop. His body is moving on autopilot, chasing his pleasure, fucking roughly into Dean's tight body. Sam hates how good it feels, hates Dean for leading him into this, hates how even now he's still attracted to him, still wants him. 

" _Goddamn_ you, Dean," Sam spits out in fury. "Your fucking fault! Why the fuck did you . . . hate you for this." Sam becomes rougher, seizing Dean's chin. 

Dean's silent now, unresponsive as each thrust jolts his body. Even when Sam turns his head, forces Dean to look at him. Dean checked out. He's not even there anymore, gone off to god knows where in his head. 

It hits Sam all at once what he's doing, and he freezes. Oh God, he really has become his father. He really is no better.

Sam pulls out and gathers Dean up, hauling him close into his arms and pressing his face into Dean's neck. He hugs him tight, tremors of regret and self-disgust running through him. Dean is still pliant and out of it. 

"Come back, Dean," he whispers. "I’m sorry. Come back to _me_. I didn’t mean it." 

The words have no effect. Sam knows he has to do something. He cradles Dean's face between his palms, gentle now, and pushes forward to brush his lips over Dean's, tongue delving into Dean's slack mouth to flick at his. It takes a few minutes, and Sam is just about to lose hope, when Dean sighs and kisses him back, coming back to life again.

They kiss for long minutes and although Dean has gotten better at it, Sam can still break him to pieces with his mouth. Sam rolls onto his back and pulls Dean with him until he's draped over Sam, their mouths refusing to separate. He wants to show Dean how much he means to him. That Dean’s never been a fuck, even when it’s all they ever managed to get around to, even before Sam knew who he was. 

Knowing now, who Dean is . . . it makes him everything. It doesn't escape Sam's mind for one second that this is fucked up, but he has Dean back after nearly a decade. He has Dean _back_ , and he never wants to let him go again. 

When Dean lifts his head, he's dazed, lips slick and shiny with Sam's spit, and he's there. He's with Sam, looking at him like Sam's kiss is what moves the earth on its axis. 

"Sorry," Sam says again, now that Dean can hear it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." He slides a hand into Dean's hair and pulls him down for another kiss. 

Dean shifts against him, hips twitching forward to rub himself up against Sam's stomach. He's hard, Sam realizes with a jolt of surprise. Sam kissing him got Dean hard. Reaching between them, Sam runs a finger up the length of Dean's dick, pleased with the way Dean moans and licks hungrily at his tongue. 

"More?" Sam asks the next time they stop.

Dean nods, breathless as Sam rolls them onto their sides. He knows he hurt Dean, and he feels horror, black and insidious. Even if Dean forgives him, Sam is never going to forgive himself for doing _that_ to Dean. 

He has a feeling Dean already has though, and that only makes it worse. Sam doesn't deserve it. And it hurts that it just might be because Dean has no common sense about these things at all after what John did to him.

Sam pushes the thought away, the same way he used to push back all memories of Dean. While Dean was denied freedom, while Dean was getting out and searching for him, Sam was busy not thinking of Dean, treating him as just another part of the past he was trying to put behind him. He didn't treat him any differently than he did his memories of John, almost like he was trying to scour Dean from his life. Because in his head John and Dean were so entwined he couldn’t think of one without the other.

Sam kisses his apologies into Dean's mouth, his jaw, his neck. He doesn't try to enter Dean again like he wants to, just wraps his hand around both their cocks and rocks against Dean, sweet friction for the both of them. 

" _Sammy,_ " Dean pants out, thrusting against him, hands flying up to grip the pillow. 

It's only the second time Dean has called him that since he found Sam, and Sam has a sudden realization that Dean must have been purposely holding back from saying it. No one has ever called him Sammy except for two people, and one of them is dead by Sam’s own hand. 

Dean bites Sam's lip when he comes, a sound that’s almost more pain than pleasure wrenched out of him. Once he's become too sensitive for Sam to keep rubbing off against him, Dean angles his hips back, taking over Sam’s stroke, expert grip getting Sam there in moments. 

He pulls Dean close after, holding him as tightly as if Dean tried to fly off the bed. The smeared mess of come between their bodies is disgusting, but Sam doesn't care. He just wants to be close to Dean. 

It's silent for a long time. Dean lets Sam hug him, wraps an arm around him and pets tentatively at his back in a way he used to when they were little. Sam feels half hysterical laughter bubbling up in him. Now that the anger and then arousal have faded, it has become starkly clear how incredibly twisted this whole situation is. 

"Why did you do it, Dean? Why did you let it happen?" 

"Had to get you to want to stay with me, Sammy. I just want you to stay where you belong, with me. What else do I have to offer you?" Dean shrugs one shoulder, jostling Sam's head where it nestled. 

"Jesus, Dean, if you'd just told me you were my brother, it would've been enough!" Sam sighs and rolls onto his back, tucking one arm under his head.   
"They told my parents that you'd gotten out of the psych ward, and they said you were dangerous. Why did they keep you so long? Christ, you were a kid!" 

A kid that had taken the blame for what his little brother had done. 

"I was in a home for a little while, but my psychiatrist told my foster parents that I was a danger to others and I was back inside the loony bin before I could even unpack. Kept on telling my social workers for _years._ Said I was _beyond_ rehabilitation. That I had fantasies of hurting people. Including _you._ " Dean tells it matter-of-factly, voice deepening in anger, outraged that anyone would ever accuse him of hurting Sam.

"Why would he lie?" Sam doesn't think he's going to like the answer, knowing that, whatever reason the man had to lie, it wasn't an honorable one. 

"He wanted to have easy access. To me. With me in there, he had plenty of time for private sessions. No one would've interrupted him when they thought he was working with a junior psychopath." 

Dean doesn't say exactly why he wanted to be alone with Dean, but it’s pretty clear anyway. He feels the urge to throw up. Oh, Jesus. 

"It . . . it wasn't just John? That did that to you? God, Dean." Dean's slightly confused expression only tears at Sam's heart. Does Dean even realize how wrong that was? 

"I’m good at it Sam. It's _okay_. It’s not a big deal." Dean catches Sam's hand, gesture clumsy but well-meant, voice suddenly soothing. "I worked it to my advantage. I saw my file. Saw what he was saying. Got money out of him. A lot of money. He paid a lot for me to keep quiet.” 

Dean is the one that was held for years as a prisoner, abused by a lying sack of shit, and he's trying to make Sam feel better about it? Shaking his head, he shuts his eyes and tries not to cry. 

"All I thought about, all that kept me going was thinking about finding you, Sam." Suddenly fierce, Dean plows on. "Nearly went as fucking crazy as he always said I was. But I thought about you, Sam. Without me to take care of you, thought of how lost you had to be. We need each other, Sammy." He nudges Sam's chin until he opens his eyes and looks at Dean. "We're all we have. Can't live without you anymore, took me so long to find you." 

A chill runs down Sam's spine. He's not sure if he likes what he's hearing or not. 

"You belong with me. I've got enough money for us to get a place. You can go to school, and we'll be together. Like it's meant to be." The strength of Dean's conviction, in this and this alone, stuns Sam. 

He has parents. He wants to point that out, but can't find the words. He couldn't send Dean away again. They’re family. They’re blood. They’re _everything._

"What are you going to do while I finish high school? I'm going to college, and we can . . . we can be together then like you said. But I'm still living with my parents right now." 

"Your _adopted_ parents. For now. I'll stay here until you graduate. It's cheap. I have enough." He doesn't falter at all.

There's nothing he can think of to argue with Dean. His desperation and need shines through. He needs Sam, really needs him. Life has denied Dean so much, he's been through so much. How can Sam deny Dean the one thing he truly wants, the one thing he needs? How can Sam deny himself?

"Okay," Sam says, binding himself and his future to Dean with a single word. "Okay."


End file.
